Actionable Analysis

15 November 2012

I keep giving Paris another chance. And
I remain unimpressed. I ask myself, when can I authoritatively pass judgement? It's Paris--it's supposed
to be incredible. Instead, I rank it alongside Barcelona. Fascinating respective countries but lesser cities in which to explore their national vibrancy. What happened Paris? Where did we go wrong?

The people, white French and colored French, they're the locus of the problem. You French nation, you're hardly French--or at least in any
definition of what it means to be French. You're populated by
immigrants. Your French citizens have identities trumped by
the color of their skin. Your French Arabs are labeled Arabs and French Africans are labeled African. In similar perception, although I'm American in America, in France I become Chinese.

Hey France, your imperial
activities of the 19th century have demographically displaced your
cultural leadership of the 18th century. While French culture of
fashion, wine, cheese, art and je ne sais quoi manages to persist,
it is no longer the foundation of national identity. Rather, it is a
foundation you wish for. But demographics, cholericly visible, says otherwise.

So Paris, you are the center of the
French world yet you have become diluted, overpowered, no longer
French. If I want to discover the 18th century France, I must search in less
international cities.

And then you, immigrant: friendly, periphery of French culture, in the surrounding suburbs. Tourists
don't visit you; you may feel minimized. While
we, Americans or other international tourists, may be less pointed in our ethnic labels, we are just as guilty as
the French in considering you other than French.

Finally, Paris, your third population: namely the
youth who flock from far away towns to your metropolis. It's
impressive how quickly they become haughty. Yeah, I speak to you in
English. Fine, castigate me. Now I speak to you in French and you
address me in English, arguing I should have approached you in
French. Hmm. Had I visited your hometown, you would have welcomed me
as an uncommon tourist. Yet in Paris I'm
persona non grata. You quickly developed rude habits. Impressive.

What is the Paris effect and the French
effect, rendering otherwise amicable people monstrous? I've read
broadly and deeply into your history. I have an impressive
collection of names and dates that not only halt your must strident
attacks against stupid American--in fact you retreat when you realize
you can't stump me... But I digress. An exploration and study of your nation hints at a few conclusions. Your unfortunate retreats in 1871, 1914, 1940, which allowed foreign occupation of Paris, has left an indelible mark on your
collective conscious. How could it not? As Americans we're pompous, no doubt a result of our success twice reversing the tide of
German aggression. So what is the effect of military failure, the reverse of our turgid pride?
You cling ever stronger to your golden age, squirming to preserve it.
But no, you must evolve, move on. Had you twice triumphed in the 20th
century you pride would have updated. You wouldn't need to overlook the last 150 years to demonstrate excellence. But you do, in a feat of clumsy legerdemain. Though no need! Exclaim your pride and and exhort your difficulties. Say, "Bonjour! This is me!"

If we consider the Dutch, they're a bit
like you. They too had a golden age. But they no longer cling to that period of excellence. Admittedly, they had no Louis XIV, whom all of
Europe looked to for cultural advice; but they did have grand colonies
and famous artists before you later outshined them. The Dutch have moved on. They too acted and suffered ignominiously in 1914 and 1940. But they look forward, with the
immigrant question central to their identity. Their culture of
tolerance leads the world. They've updated themselves from their liberal, merchant and protestant past.

Though who am I to critique? You
continue to draw more tourists than anywhere in the world. While the magic may be dead for me, it's clearly not over. Though a word of
caution: you might be the Mona Lisa. Think, what was your first thought upon seeing her?

13 November 2012

The prosecution of sexual dalliances in the US has taken on dumb proportions. So long as you can manage the professional duties in which you are entrusted, what you choose to do between the sheets is your fun. While morally there are a host of questions for anyone who engages in consensual sex beyond the bounds of an existing marriage or relationship, I don't concern myself with that. In fact I don't really care. To the cheaters out there, maybe an open relationship is more appropriate. Or maybe you ought to revitalize your sex life. Have your moral struggles with your own god.

But for the the public justice machine to encourage morality in the narrow area of some illicit fun that has no effect beyond those immediately concerned...come on. Senators, tap away in airport bathrooms and find sexual liberty. And Representatives, continue taking bulging underpants photos. I think we should encourage this behavior. And David and Paula, hope the sex rocked. Yeah it's wrong, you're married and not to the other. But that's your issue, not mine. Paula, while I think you eat too much meat who am I to legislate vegetarianism?

And for those complaining of moral decline, can we too discuss how libertine behavior may augment job performance? Schwarzenegger unswervingly served California. Clinton superbly executed his duties. And those steamy Europeans? Go Berlusconi! While you may have a mysterious rash, I doubt that spread to your economy causing its erratic behavior. And I liked your optimism while managing the crisis.

Let's look--this prosecution is bad for America: we're losing trusted officials to private transgressions. But they're our officials and what does it say about us if we tolerate abhorrent behavior? It says bad things, agreed. So let's denounce abhorrent behavior and stay true to the principles in which we entrust ourselves.

30 July 2012

IN March a hiring manager from the Department of Justice phoned seeing
if was interested in an investigative position with them. I mentioned
I lived in France and that
Boston
was a bit far away for an interview. He remarked, “if only I could
be paid to go interview you. French cheese, wine...if I were you I
might never come back.”

Indeed,
an allure like none other. French wine--instant class. French
couture--instant sophistication. Following in the foot steps of
Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, Hemmingway, and T.S. Eliot I moved to
France. Six months of language-study and I can only now begin to
consider myself immersed in the culture.

There
is perhaps no journey so cliched as this: American in France. And
like so many Americans before me I came to discover the land of Louis XIV, Marie Antoinette, Voltaire, Rousseau,
Monet, and Charles de Gaule. History, philosophes, artists. La haute
culture. Fromage, joie de vie, creme brûlet. Oui, la haute culture.

The
importance of French culture to America is undeniable. While
linguistically English is more similar to German it is French which is
easier to learn. Our language is replete with French influence.
Résumé, à propros, quotidian. Or l let
us discuss art: trompe l'oeil, oeuvre, maestro.

So
in such a cliched journey what magic is there to discover? A huge
slection of French wine for under $4 per bottle. I'm hardly drinking
away the options. Cheese? I've never been a big fan of the strong
stuff. But there is still much to discover in the famed French
regional cuisine, organized by Appellation Origine Contrôlée. Piment
from Espelette, Jambon from Bayonne, mild cheeses from the Basque
countryside. Despite these many options, my diet has hardly changed.
In California I buy a range of products from Trader Joe's and here I
buy products from another grocery store. While I suplement my largly
vegetarian diet with a range of local specialties, much is the same.
Nevertheless, at least in my mind, I'm living French food culture.

On
the otherhand, I'm yet to find the French
couture
in my
Southwest corner—except
for
the John Galliano trousers I purchased for myself while living in New
York. And my other favorite French designer Jean Paul Gaultier I'm yet to see anyone
sporting. So I'm not in the fashion capital.

And
the girls, while French, if viewed objectively, aren't anything
particular. But they're French and I still can't deny them a certain
mystique--even if I'm yet to find it.

So
essentially I'm yet to find the French n'importa quoi. Despite this,
the
dreams lives
on.

And
while I overlook that, I have found an
unpredicted
friendliness. I have many friends, associates, and
people who say bonjour
to me. I've run a bit and won
a few races. When I arrive at a competitionthere's
non-stop greetings and kissing of people I may or not recognize.
I lacked such celeberty status when I lived in Texas and won every
race. Perhaps it's
my Americanness here, being a foreigner that makes me more
approachable. Yet I've only recently been able to hold a
conversation. Though people for six months have chatted with me.

So
as I depart France at the moment on my way to Spain and later the US,
I find a moment (in
a
car-share!)
to reflect. What is the essence of France, what is the allure? I
realize while the allure grips my person and I plan to return in
September, I'm still no closer to discovering the essence. Maybe it's
only the fierce pride exhibited by the French. They're known for
being jerks and there's truth to that. They're proud of their
culture, their food, their language. And while it can be tiring at
times there is an allure to someone who knows their identity and
celebrates it. They have detractors but there is also respect. So
France, while your boutique farming methods may be inefficient, your
search for a famous contemporary French musician amusing (David
Guetta
is
the best you've got, never heard of him) and your talk of how
difficult French history is to master by virtue of being an older
country, shortsighted, I still respect you. Indeed, you're formidable.
À dieu mon ami. See you in September.